A/U: Inspired by a humorfic I read a lonnng time ago and have
completely lost the address/title/author of. The idea isn't
mine: it was just lying there innocently enough and looking
underused, so I borrowed the thing and put a much more serious
and much more romantic spin on it.

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"Unspoken"

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"You don't know how

Lucky you are.

You don't know how

Much I adore you."

~ Dar Williams

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'Who is it,' the doors whisper. 'Who is it that you love? The
one that you treasure more than your own heart, your own
happiness?'

The sorceress in front of them scowls and refuses to answer,
claiming that she treasures nothing above herself. It is a lie,
and the doors deny her entrance.

'Who is it that you love?' the doors whisper again, their voices
bright and brittle and like nothing that any of those before
them have heard in their lives- and those before them have heard
very many things and lived very long lives. 'Who makes your
heart ache when away and soar when with you?'

The princess says nothing, only lowers her head and blushes
brilliantly. She is too embarrassed, and so the doors deny her
entrance as well.

The sorceress is angry. Behind this barricade lies a treasure
she has sought long and hard, and one she feels that she greatly
deserves. That these doors have already suffered her most
powerful spells unmarred enrages her, and the fact that they
demand the name of her beloved in way of a password only serves
to anger her further.

'Who is the brilliance in your heart, that is more to you than
any other power in this realm?' the doors murmur. The swordsman
just smiles at them a little nervously, hardly understanding the
pretty words they attach to what he finds the simplest of
emotions, and so they deny him entrance.

'Who is it that you fight for?' the doors ask. 'Who makes your
heart burn?'

The dragon says that she fights for her race; but it is a lie
like the sorceress's response, and so the doors deny her.

'Whom do you love?' the doors ask again, no impatience in their
delicate tones. They could ask this question forever. They
have, in fact. They have spent all their time doing so since
the day of their creation- clear speech, however, only comes
when those who might answer them appear.

The priest tells them that there is no one in his heart; and
once again, this is a lie, and so he is denied like the others.

The sorceress screams her frustration and storms back towards
the mouth of the cave that these doors have dwelt in for all
their existence. The others follow her instinctively- she is
the fire that shelters the moth, and they have followed her into
places far worse.

One pauses, however, as the doors whisper, one last time, 'Who
is it that you love?' He is the only one of their company that
has not been spoken to yet, and he considers these strange doors
for a long moment, knowing full well what they conceal. They do
not repeat their question, but he feels their peculiar stare on
him all the same.

He leans up against them in a manner that is very nearly erotic,
and, stone lips brushing their cold, glassy surfaces with a
faint click, whispers three syllables to his own murky
reflection in a voice scarcely louder than a breath . . .